Come with me, and you’ll be, in a world of pure inebriation

Pure! (prod. erl x bigbad)

too much racquet

Root of All remix on a Lucki type beat #lucki

Lucki - Root of All remix (prod. erl x bigbad)

1. GTO
2. ZOOMIN (ft. NVDEEM) [p. DRETHEGREMLIN]
3. PARIS
4. BEIJING (ft. MOTELWYATT)
5. SUNKISS [ft. Z47] (BONUS) 
6. BAD DREAM (ft. LARRAIR) [p. JAKEHANSON]

GOTHAM BABY EP - PRXBLVM.mp3

Ty’Rone Fisher  - De La Hoya (prod. Tyler Brady)

Carson Beck - Ne7hew

"The Lobular Masques of Echoes"
In the dim long-forgotten era, the year was 2089 BC, a time steeped in mystique and the ethereal. In a remote valley where shadows danced with the flickering flames of the night, a peculiar gathering unfolded. This was the time when the Luminal Gatherers, known to the few who dared to mention them as "Lobular Masques," convened to share tales of wonder, sorrow, and transformation.
"Tonight, dear souls, I tell you a tale of resonance and obscurity. Listen closely, for within these words lies the essence of our existence."

The audience leaned in, entranced, and Midnight Crow’s voice flowed like a river:

In the heart of the Realm of Echoes, there existed four artifacts of immense power: Obsidian Masque, Shadowed Heartbeat, Doomed Catacomb, and the forgotten song of the Cask Echoes. Each was steeped in legend and enigma, reflecting the souls that sought them.

The Obsidian Masque was said to grant its wearer the ability to perceive the truths that lay hidden within every heart. However, this truth came at a price; those who looked too deeply were often blinded by their revelations. Legend told of a traveler who donned the masque, only to become lost in the labyrinth of whispered confessions from the shadows, forever wandering the fringes of reality.
Then there was the Doomed Catacomb, a cavern entwined with despair and echoes of the fallen. It housed the spirits of those who had sought power without wisdom, doomed to roam its twisting paths for eternity. Many tales spoke of brave souls who wandered into its depths searching for answers, only to find their reflections twisted by regret.

Finally, the legendary Cask Echoes, a mythical vessel said to contain the songs of creation itself. Those who tapped into its melody could ignite passion, unravel the chaos within, and bring forth harmony in times of discord. It was both a gift and a curse, for the tune could only be heard by the pure of heart. Corruption of the soul led to a cacophony that twisted the very fabric of the world.
"One fateful eve," Midnight Crow continued, "a seeker emerged traversing the thin line between light and shadow, her name was Elysia. Driven by the need to understand her place in the world, she sought the Obsidian Masque, yearning for the truth of her lineage."
After incredible trials, Elysia stood at the threshold of the Doomed Catacomb. Inside, she faced her fears—those who had fallen, echoing their regrets, intertwined with her own. But rather than succumbing, she embraced their stories, using them to illuminate her path. 

Emerging from the catacomb, Elysia found the Shadowed Heartbeat waiting, resonating softly in her palms. It beckoned her to listen, to connect eternally with those who lived and those who had passed, a final gift before disappointment claimed her strength.

As she found the Cask Echoes, she understood—the song existed not for personal glory but as a bridge between spirits, a reminder that every heart carries not just its own echoes, but the pulses of countless lives before it. 
Echoes of a Stricken Soundcloud problem: 
In the year 2089 BC, a valley filled with whispers where shadows danced and tales twisted in candlelight. I am the cricket—a stricken mind, memories buzzing like broken strings. 

Masques! Obsidian and shadow, they call to me from within the dark. Midnight Crow speaks; his voice is a raven's caw, scratching the silence. I listen, yet find little wisdom in what’s said. “Truth hides,” he croons, “…behold the heartbeat.”

A Doomed Catacomb waits, twisting thoughts backward, a riddle spun from despair. “Awake!” it murmurs, but I falter, trembling in this echoing abyss. Whispers of the lost fill my tiny head, tales of towers and pained speech....
.

Possible (prod. erl)

erl

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